Secret Keeper
by Voracious
Summary: There are two sides to every story. With the threat of Voldemort looming over Hogwarts, the students form alliances and fortify their ranks, unknowing that their worst enemy may lie within. ONGOING
1. Secret Keeper Chapter 1

Secret Keeper - Chapter One

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"Come on . . . please . . . not FUNNY . . . have to get . . . please . . . "

Grinning cruelly, Davis Larrington stretched out his long arm to it's fullest extent above the short, chubby boy who panted in front of him, holding the wand even higher above his head. "No, YOU come on, Pettigrew," the tall, lanky youth jeered, "I want to see you jump for it. You could do with a spot of exercise. Come on, don't you want it? You certainly were eager enough to tell Professor Dumbledore I'd called you a toad in the hallway earlier . . . let's see some more of that initiative here!"

Behind Larrington, a close knot of Slytherin fifth-years snickered. Standing behind the Hog's Head as they were, with a thick blanket of snow whirling around them, they were unnoticed by the witches and wizards and other students walking the streets of Hogsmead. Peter Pettigrew eyed Larrington and his friends resentfully from behind a lock of hair as he bent over, grasping his knees to steady himself as he tried to get his breath back. He briefly considered yelling for help, but knew it wouldn't be any good. Even if anyone were to hear him, he didn't like the idea of having people see him being rescued from a bunch of students two years younger than him. And besides, he didn't think it would help matters to get Larrington and his friends in further trouble.

Peter jumped again, but his madly waving fingertips didn't even come within inches of his stolen wand. The Slytherins pealed shrill laughter. "Stop it!" Peter shouted, once again out of breath. He was red in the face and more angry than afraid now, aware of how ridiculous he looked. "Give me back my wand! I need to meet James and the others . . . just -- just give it to me and I won't tell!"

There was a great mocking ooooh from Larrigton's friends. Peter felt his cheeks flame when one of them, a pretty blonde girl with a cruelly pointed face, giggled shrilly at him. "Ooooh, hear that, mates?" Larrington chuckled, twiddling the wand mockingly in his long fingers. "He won't tell on me if I play nice! In that case . . . " Abruptly, he spun the wand around and brought it down, jabbing it viciously between Peter's eyes.

More startled than hurt, Peter stumbled backwards and nearly fell into the snowdrift. "H-Hey!" It was more of a squawk than anything else.

"What's the matter, Pettigrew?" Larrington laughed. He jabbed the wand again, this time into Peter's chest, even harder than before. "This is what you wanted, right? I'm giving you your wand. C'mon, Pudge . . . take it from me!" Another jab into his cheek.

Despite himself, Peter felt tears of pain and humiliation spring to his eyes. He'd known something like this was going to happen when Dumbledore had stood Larrington in the hallway, in front of all the students milling between classes, and lectured him about respect towards one's peers. Larrington's eyes had glowered at Peter over Dumbledore's shoulder as he nodded sullenly. Worst had been when Peter had turned to go, and had overhead one Hufflepuff girl whispering to another, "What's he playing at? Why does he need Dumbledore? He's older than him, isn't he? He shouldn't be picking on fifth years . . . "

Now, standing in the snow and trying valiantly to protect himself from Larrington, the words seemed even more ridiculous. "Stop it!" he cried. His scarf had come askew, and he tripped forward on it as he tried to move away, Larrington's newest attack glancing painfully off of his left cheekbone and narrowly missing his eye. He stumbled to his hands and knees in the snow. "S-Stop it, Davis, or I-I'll -- "

"You'll what?" jeered one of the Slytherins. A snowball hit the side of Peter's face, half blinding him. "You'll run and tell on us?"

"What a BABY!" one of the girls cried. "You'd hardly know he was pure-blood, would you? He acts like a Muggle!"

"He's a disgrace to pure-blooded wizards everywhere!" laughed Larrington, jabbing at Peter's hindquarters with the wand as he struggled to right himself. "Isn't that right, Peter? Pudgy Peter Pettigrew! Barely even made it to seventh year!"

"That's . . . that's not . . . " Peter staggered to his feet, trying his best to get a good steam going. But the yells stuck in his throat and the Slytherin rolled over him as though he hadn't spoken.

"Always creeping about with that Potter and Black and Lupin . . . you think that makes you some sort of golden boy?" Larrington's tone had taken a vicious edge to it now, and he circled Peter like some contorted bird of prey, jabbing with the wand and yanking it back whenever Peter made a grab for it. "I heard from Severus Snape you can hardly even transfigure a teakettle . . . what d'you need a wand for?"

"He probably uses it to scratch his backside!" chortled the boy who had spoken before. "Can't reach something that big with those short little arms of his!"

More colour flamed in Peter's face, this time suffusing his neck and forehead too. Why hadn't he waited for Sirius instead of hurrying on ahead? There seemed to be a dull thudding sound in Peter's ears, and his hands balled into fists as he struggled to toss the now sodden red and gold scarf over his shoulder. Another snowball hit him in the back of the head, and as he teetered forward, several others found their mark as well. Shaking his head, he saw that several of the Slytherins had their wands out and were bewitching the cold balls of snow into the air, while others were simply packing it by hand, malicious grins on their faces. "Listen, you . . . you want to stop now!" Peter said shrilly, backing away from Larrington who continued to advance.

The others pressed in tighter, a solid wall of green and black robes. "Pettigrew's getting mad, Davis!" someone called cheerfully. "Uh-oh!"

Peter glared at the boy, who grinned insolently back. Every muscle in Peter's body was so tense it felt made of wood, and his fists were trembling. He wasn't scared anymore. He was angry. In fact . . .

. . . he was furious.

"Uh-oh!" Larrington laughed himself. "What's he gonna do about it? Gonna cry, Pudge? Is that it? Well cry away, Pudge, because nobody cares what happens to YOU--!"

"EXPELLIARMOS!"

Peter's wand suddenly sprung out of Larrington's fingers as though it had been yanked by a string, and Peter, hardly thinking, snatched it out of the air as he scrambled backwards, panting. Several Slytherins lost their wands as well from the spell, giving startled yells, while those who had been holding snowballs to throw found them shooting out of their hands into the air before dropping neatly back on their own heads.

"WHAT D'YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT, LARRINGTON?" bellowed the Gryffindor who was sliding down the massive snowdrift behind them. His wand was out and there was a muderous expression on his face as he stormed forward.

The Slytherin scattered at once, most of them scrambling for their wands, leaving Larrington and Peter standing apart from one another. Larrington was clearly trying not to let on how alarmed he was, trying for an expression of bravado as he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. "Easy! Easy, Black, we weren't doing anything, we were just -- "

"Don't you tell me what you weren't doing!" Sirius Black snapped, coming to stand between them. He was easily as tall as Larrington himself, and completely blocked Peter from view. "This is all because Peter called you on acting the Muggle's arse in the hall earlier, isn't it?"

A flicker of anger came back into the younger boy's eyes. "We weren't gonna hurt him!" he yelled. "And it's his own fault! He's such a baby, all he does is take up space!"

"Sirius -- " Peter grabbed onto his friend's shoulder urgently, but Sirius shook him off, still focused on Larrington.

"And you think you're the one to judge that, are you?" he snapped. His teeth were bared and his upper lip was twitching. "Talk about useless . . . you're lucky you didn't hurt him, you wretch. Go on -- get out of here."

For a moment, it looked as though there would be a full-blown fight after all. Larrington's hands snapped into fists and colour rose dully in his sallow cheeks. Sirius took a single step forward, however, still glowering, and all the fight seemed to go out of the Slytherin at once. Throwing a single murderous look at Peter, who was looking around Sirius's arm, he turned and stalked off. His friends parted like water for him as he passed and sealed themselves up behind him, throwing looks over their shoulders that were a mixture of contempt, embarassment, and fear.

When they had rounded the corner, and disappeared into the street, Sirius sighed and turned around. All the anger had left his face, and he held his wand loosely at his side. "Peter, are you -- "

"I was handling it, Sirius!" Peter snapped. He was struggling to shove his wand up his left sleeve where he usually kept it, but it kept snagging on the lining. "You didn't need to come barging in like that!"

Incredulity surfaced on Sirius's face as his jaw dropped. "Barging in . . . Peter, I didn't -- I mean, I wasn't . . . THEY WERE BLOODY WELL MAKING A RIGHT FOOL OF YOU!" he shouted at last. He looked more exasperated and surprised than he did angry.

"I WAS GOING TO HANDLE IT!" Peter shouted back, angry for some reason he couldn't place. His face felt so hot he was certain his cheeks were glowing like twin fireballs. He shoved his wand viciously up his sleeve, ignoring the tearing sound the lining made. "I can look after myself, you know! I'm not . . . I'm not some helpless baby, Sirius!"

"I never SAID you were!" Still looking at Peter as though he had suddenly sprouted a large purple flower out of the top of his head, Sirius slipped his own wand back into his pocket and frowned at him. "Look, Peter, I'm sorry if I upset you, but I thought you needed help, allright? I didn't want you getting hurt . . . " he paused, suddenly looking concerned. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"No." Peter said sullenly. He finally managed to wind his scarf back around his neck and stood heaving in the snow, avoiding Sirius's eyes. After a moment, however, he forced himself too look up. "Look, I'm sorry, Sirius . . . I just . . . that was embarassing, okay?"

A trace of his usual grin appeared as Sirius shook him gently by the shoulder. "Yeah, I can imagine . . . but really, Peter, they're just Slytherin . . . all you have to do is just lift up their rock a little to let some light in on them and they'll all slither away with their tails between their legs."

Managing a smile back, Peter dusted himself off. "Yeah, well . . . we're a bit late, aren't we? I mean, James and Remus have got to be there by now . . . "

Taking the hint, Sirius let the topic drop. They walked in the direction Larrington and his group had taken, rejoining the long lane winding it's way through the center of the village. The wind had picked up, and the street was emptier than it had been when Peter had first left the castle, most of the other students no doubt having gone inside to take refuge from the weather. Peter's breath plumed in front of him as he looked up. "So . . . got out of your detention early, did you?"

"Ah . . . yeah." Grinning fully now, Sirius ruffled a hand through his short, black hair. "I mean, you didn't expect me to take my time, did you? Cleaning cauldrons for Professor Frewin . . . mind you, I may have cut a corner or two in my stretch for freedom." he added, looking sly.

Peter wasn't particularily surprised. "What'd you do this time?"

"Ahhhhh, just stuck a few of them in the back of that great old storage closet nobody uses anymore . . . I mean, I emptied them first so nothing'll explode, and they won't start to smell for a while." Sirius added hastily, seeing his friend's expression.

"Really, Sirius, you've got to stop that . . . I mean, we're graduating this year -- "

"Trying to take a leaf out of Remus's book, are you?" Sirius interrupted shrewedly. "He'll like that, I've always suspected he wanted his own fan club . . . the Moony Maniacs . . . besides, you're one to talk . . . starting fights with other houses, Pettigrew, shame on you!"

"I didn't start anything!" Peter said hotly, before he saw the teasing expression on Sirius's face. "I mean . . . they just cornered me and pushed me back there!" he said, gesturing angrily. "They took my wand, Sirius, what was I supposed to do?"

"I dunno . . . " Sirius replied, absently scratching at the underside of his chin. "You could always just wait for me next time, or . . . well, you can try that Snake Bite thing."

"What's that?" Peter asked, intrigued, as they headed towards the Three Broomsticks.

"It's where you take someone's arm, see . . . like this . . . and then you twist in opposite directions. Supposed to hurt a lot."

"Where on earth did you hear THAT?"

"Thomas Eldstien. And he's Muggle-born, isn't he, so he's got that older brother of his to contend with. Tom said it was hell growing up until he cursed his brother's head upside-down out of frustration the day before he got his letter accepting him to Hogwarts. Got it delivered in person, too, by a Ministry Official, I hear . . . no matter how Tom begged, they just weren't willing to leave the git like that." Sirius added, laughing. He pushed open the door and they stepped inside.

The Three Broomsticks was likely one of the most popular establishments in Hogsmead, and Peter suspected it was always busy, even when it wasn't an official weekend for Hogwarts students. Inside, clusters of villagers hunched over the small tables, eyeing the rowdy students with looks both amused and exasperated. Red, yellow, blue, and even green house colours flashed in the crowded room as people called out to one another, waving cheerily. A group of Hufflepuffs had just broken into the school song, and, egged on by a crowd of cheering Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, where singing in an odd, upbeat acapella, arms around one another.

"I feel like I've come home." Sirius said happily, throwing his arms wide as though to embrace the noise.

Peter kept close to his back as they jostled their way through the throng. Students from all houses called out greetings to Sirius; only a few noticed Peter as well, acknowledging him with absent smiles before turning away. Scowling briefly, Peter looked up at the back of Sirius's snow-dusted head. "Where are they? I can't see anything . . . "

"Dunno." Sirius squinted about the dimly lighted room, rising up on the balls of his feet. At the far end of the room, the harassed looking barkeeper was counting out large foaming bottles of Butterbeer to a clamoring group of Ravenclaw third years. A house of cards someone had just built with an Exploding Snap Pack blew up, to riotous applause from the onlookers (and a sheepish grin from the builder, who was extinguishing a small flame on the end of one lock of hair with her wand). And, off to the left, alone at a table --

"OY! REMUS!" Sirius bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth as he bulldozed his way forward. Several people laugh, and Peter muttered embarassed apologies towards the people Sirius jostled aside, most of which were ignored.

"Remus!" Finally reaching the table, Sirius slapped his hands down on the wooden top and stared dramatically at his friend.

Looking up from the book he had propped on his knees, Remus Lupin looked politely surprised. He was leaning back in his chair against one of the splintered wooden support beams, feet propped on the table, and he sat down suddenly with a loud bang as the chair legs hit the floor. "Hello, Sirius. Hello, Peter."

"Hello, Remus." Peter replied with a wan smile. He took a seat beside him, glad to be within the protective borders of his friends.

"Do you know what we went through to find you?" Sirius persisted, as though he hadn't spoken.

Remus blinked and smiled slightly. "Some very surprised Ravenclaws?"

Sirius twisted around to look behind him. Indeed, three Ravenclaw girls he had pushed through on his way over were now mopping spilled Butterbeer off the front of their robes and shooting dark looks in his direction. With a shrug and a grin, he swung one leg over the nearest chair and dropped into it. "That too, I suppose. Been here long?"

"Not very." Remus shook the half-empty bottle of Butterbeer he had been holding in front of them. His sandy brows raised as he looked between the two of them. "You are running late though."

Immediately Sirius's brows began to knit together, and Peter knew he was thinking of Larrington. As Sirius opened his mouth to speak, Peter cleared his throat brutally loud and made a show of straightening his scarf. Only the briefest of flickers in Sirius's eyes showed he understood as he changed tracks without missing a beat. "Yeah, well, detention ran later than I expected. I didn't want to give Frewin another reason to hate me, so I made sure I did a very thorough job on his cauldrons, and I asked Peter to wait for me."

"Professor Frewin doesn't hate you." Peter pointed out, folding his arms on top of the table. "Or at least he wouldn't if you stopped bewitching the blackboard to say different things whenever his back was turned."

"It's not my fault he's got a wart like a second head, is it?" Sirius said in a wounded tone.

"And you wanted to be sure you did an exemplary job on his cauldrons, did you?" Remus said in a skeptical tone as the waitress drifted over. The corners of his mouth were quivering in and out of a smile.

"Well," Sirius said, with a wink in Peter's direction as he snatched the remains of Remus's Butterbeer off the table and drained it in one long swallow, "there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"


	2. Secret Keeper Chapter 2

Secret Keeper - Chapter 2

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"So she finally said yes, did she?" Sirius murmured, with an unflattering look of incredulity. "Well, good on him. I was wondering when one or t'other'd give in. Mind, if James had been the one to give up, I think we'd have to be stopping him from drowning himself in the lake right now."

"He wouldn't have been that upset, would he?" Peter asked anxiously, pausing in the act of refilling his tankard from the pitcher the waitress had set in front of them. "I mean, it's only a date, yeah?"

A look of amusement flickered between Sirius and Remus. "Only a date, YEAH," Sirius said slowly and deliberately, "if he didn't have it for her as bad as he does. And," he added, helping himself to a particularily large Cauldron Cake from the stack in front of him, "it was completely obvious she's been wanting to say yes this entire year . . . probably would have already if James wasn't such a git."

"Lucky git." Remus said, and they grinned at each other.

Peter, however, frowned in the general direction of the castle. The tip of one tower was barely visible through the frosted window they sat beside, but he frowned at it nonetheless. "Where did they go?"

"Dunno." Remus said with a trace of surprise. It wasn't like Peter to greet any of James's accomplishments with anything less than enthusiasm. "I expect they'll want to be alone, don't they?" he said, ignoring Sirius's snicker. "They probably decided to stay at the school, away from the other students."

"Ah, yeah, that's real romantic," Sirius laughed, "instead of a warm glass of Butterbeer and a nice stroll down the lane to one of the shops, they get swarmed by a bunch of snotty-nosed first-and-second years. I guess I'll have to take a lead from James if I want to impress my next date huh?" he added with a sigh and a flutter of his eyelashes.

Remus smiled, but if anything Peter's frown deepened. "So . . . so he just left, just like that? I thought we were all going to get together today."

"Well, it isn't as if we were doing anything important, was it?" Remus pointed out. "We get together every day as it is . . . besides, I don't think a rogue snitch is going to start tearing apart the Three Broomsticks. I think we'll manage."

"Yeah, and he's been going on about that Evans girl for the past -- what -- three years now?" Sirius said, muffled around a mouthful of Cauldron Cakes, cheeks bulging. Two girls who had been eyeing him appraisingly at the next table looked mortified at this display. "Maybe now they'll stop mooning after each other across the house tables . . . it's been driving me starkers."

"Still." Peter muttered, and he fell into a moody silence.

Remus exchanged a curious look with Sirius who raised his eyebrows meaningfully. This past year, Peter had seemed more and more prone to bouts of sullenness that were entirely unlike him. Whereas typically he had hurried to catch up with the others as they strode laughing through the hallways, half-running at their side and beaming up at them, these days he was more likely to trail a few steps behind, clutching his book bag to his chest, and gazing at the floor in front of his feet unless spoken directly to. These days, however, Remus thought little of it; with graduation looming before them, and the press to find work out of Hogwarts, stress had been taking a good whack at them all. Remus in particular felt he was bearing the brunt of it all; what sort of job could a werewolf possibly hope to attain? It was too much to hope for that any position he could secure would allow him a night off every month so he could be kept in check by a stag and a gigantic dog . . . nevermind the fact that James's and Sirius's own work was likely to lead them away.

Now, glancing over at Peter, Remus noticed the small, angry bruises rising on his face, and wondered wether it was something more than stress that was preying on his friend's mind lately. After a moment, Peter looked up, still frowning. "What?" he asked irritably.

"Nothing." Remus said mildly. "I was just wondering wether everything was okay with you. That's all."

For an instant, it looked as though Peter was going to snarl a reply. The next moment, however, he simply sighed. "I just wish James hadn't gone off on us. That's all."

"You can hardly blame him, though, can you?" Sirius asked, sounding surprised. He wiped a trail of crumbs off of the corner of his mouth with the ball of his thumb. "I mean, look at his choices . . . spend the day with a gorgeous red-head who's finally given him the time of day . . . or spend the day with us, and have another competition to see who can blow the biggest bubble that most closely resembles how big his head is getting with a bit of Droobles."

"We're not doing that again, are we?" Remus asked with mild distaste.

"No," Sirius admitted, "not since he finally figured out how to throw that Bat Bogey hex so you can't dodge it, anyway."

"I just don't see what SHE has that we don't." Peter said plaintively.

At this, Sirius chuckled loudly and Remus hid a smile in his tankard.

Looking flustered now, Peter said, "That's not what I meant! It's just . . . WE'RE his friends, aren't we?"

"Last I checked." Remus agreed. "Still, that doesn't mean we own him."

Peter fell silent again. Remus wanted to ask him where he had gotten the bruises of, but thought better of it. More than anyone else, he understood the need for privacy, and understood how annoying it was when someone tried to push their way into your own. After all, if Peter was really in trouble, surely he'd have told them about it by now. If there was one thing about Peter you could rely on, it was his tendency to run for help when the going got tough.

The silence spun out between the three of them as they ate and drank, but the rest of the Three Broomsticks more than made up for any lack of noise on their part. A smug looking Slytherin third-year had quickly become the center of attention when he'd unveiled a toad that could do rather unflattering imitations of anyone it saw, and the room was full of shouts and requests for imitations. To compete, a pair of Gryffindors had bewitched their chess set to re-enact historic wizarding battles, complete with battlecries which were surprisingly loud for such tiny things. It didn't take long for the Slytherin toad to focus on the chess set, which in turn was challenging the toad to a battle, brandishing tiny stone fists angrily, and shouting very rude insults at the toad's owner.

The toad had just leapt from it's owner's arms and swallowed the white queen whole to the horror of her court when Peter stood up, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. His cheeks were rather red when both Sirius and Remus turned to look at him curiously. "I've got to . . . I mean, I'm going." he blurted, shoving the chair back into place.

"But we've only just got here!" Sirius said, surprised.

"I-I know," Peter stammered, avoiding his gaze, "but I've just remembered, I have an essay due to Professor Binns on Monday, and I haven't even started it yet . . . four feet, can you believe it?" He was edging towards the door now. "Look, I'm really s-sorry, but I need all the NEWTS I can get this year, or my Mum'll go starkers again . . . I still haven't heard the end of those two OWLS I got." he added with a miserable expression.

When he had gone, Sirius looked after him musingly, swirling the contents of his half-empty Butterbeer bottle absently. "Wonder what that was all about? Usually he's the first to start on his homework . . . "

"Sirius," Remus said with a trace of amusement, "he was lying. He didn't get any essay assigned. We have History of Magic class with him. Or did you forget?"

"Oh yeah," Sirius agreed, already pulling Peter's untouched Cauldron Cakes towards himself. "Well, I try not to think about school that much when I'm not in it, you know?"

"I'll never understand how you get grades like yours with an attitude like that."

"What can I say?" Sirius grinned, toasting him with a Cauldron Cake. "I've got the knack."

"For trouble, maybe." Remus said, but he was smiling. "What was bothering Peter when you two came in? How'd he get those bruises?"

For an instant, Sirius looked mystified, before an expression of comprehension dawned in his eyes. "I'd nearly forgotten."

"Somehow," Remus said dryly, "I don't think Peter had."

When Sirius had told Remus of the incident behind the Hog's Head, Remus sighed and shook his head. "I thought it was something like that. My Ancient Runes class has always been a nightmare . . . I take it with the Slytherins, and they're always yelling to know why I'd hang around with someone who lets himself get bullied by his juniors. Peter's nearly as famous as James in school, only for humiliation rather than Quidditch."

"Yeah, he is." Sirius agreed with a slight chuckle.

Remus, however, leaned forward in his chair and studied Sirius intently for a moment before speaking. "You don't like Peter very much, do you?" he asked in a low tone.

Rather than try to deny it, Sirius merely looked uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair a moment before replying. "Come off it, Moony. I've known him for -- what -- the entire time we've been at Hogwarts?" he said evasively.

"Familiarity doesn't always go hand-in-hand with friendship, Sirius." Remus said wisely.

"N-ooooo . . . " Frowning now, Sirius was prodding moodily at the untouched Cauldron Cake. " . . . but, Remus, he doesn't exactly go out of his way to be friendly even to us, does he?"

"He worships James." Remus said, surprised.

Sirius snorted. "I'm not talking about worship. Don't confuse envy with friendship either, Remus. Wormtail is James's walking, talking applause track, and even James knows it." He scowled. "I don't dislike him. But you and James are friends. I don't need a lap dog too. Sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder if Peter isn't James's friend solely to be seen patting him on the back when he leaves the Quidditch pitch."

"You've never said anything like this before." Remus found himself frowning now, as he studied his friend's face. Frowns and scowls didn't sit well on Sirius's face, a face giving more to grins and smirks. Indeed, he'd never heard Sirius speak a bad word about anyone who hadn't done him a wrong turn first.

"You never asked before, did you?" Sirius picked up the Cauldron Cake, then sighed and dropped it back on to the plate. "I've lost my appetite. Look, are you done? D'you want to get a move on? I hear Honeydukes has come out with some blood-flavoured lollipops."

Surprised at the change in topic, Remus blinked. "What in the world would you want one of those for?"

"Oh, you know," Sirius said off-handedly, his gaze flickering off to the left, "people."

Remus followed his gaze and understood at once. Lucius Malfoy had joined a group of Slytherins at the opposite end of the room, and they had instantly jostled one another into cramped positions around the table to give him his space. He was skinning off a pair of black gloves, not a single thread of his white-blonde hair out of place as he smiled benignly at them. He must have felt someone looking at him, however, for the next moment he had looked across the room, turned the brief curling of his upper lip into a sarcastic smile, and waved cheerily over at Remus and Sirius. Sirius, with a fake grin so wide it must have been painful, gave Lucius a wave that turned into a rude hand gesture the moment the Slytherin had looked away. "Slimy Boggart bogey." Sirius said vehemently through his grin.

"What's he ever done to you?" Remus demanded as they stood up, slinging his heavy book bag over one shoulder and testing to see if the seam intended to give way.

"You remember that owl I sent you this past summer? When I said I'd gotten a letter from someone in the family?"

"Yeah?"

"Narcissa." Sirius said with great dislike. "Telling me all about how Malfoy had been to visit her over the summer, and about how she was going to visit him next."

Remus groaned loudly, but couldn't suppress a laugh as they headed for the door, weaving their way more carefully through the other patrons. "Nacissa and Malfoy . . . can you imagine what it'd be like if they had kids?"

"I don't want to imagine." Sirius snorted, grinning despite himself. "I want to find out where they nest and destroy the eggs."

Even before they had reached Honeydukes and Sirius began prowling the streets trying to offer a 'strawberry' flavoured lolly to anyone he recognized, they had completely forgotten about Peter Pettigrew's behaviour.


	3. Secret Keeper Chapter 3

Secret Keeper - Chapter 3

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James found it hard pressed to remember a time when he'd felt more buoyant. Not even the time he and Sirius had rigged the ceiling of the Great Hall in their second year to spell out rude words with it's clouds and stars, the teachers being unable to rectify it for a week nor find the culprits, came close. He was certain that, for the rest of his life, all he would have to do was think of the first evening he spent strolling through the snow-dusted grounds of Hogwarts with Lily Evans on their first official date, and he would be able to produce a patronus that could fill up the entire school itself.

Not that he would have admitted it to any of his friends. Wild Thestrals could not have drug this private elation from him.

He was pleased to see that Lily looked similarily happy, cheeks flushed with (he hoped) more than the chill in the air. "So," she said now, hands clasped behind her back as she walked beside him, "you really weren't planning on doing anything else today?"

Thinking only briefly of Sirius, Remus, and Peter, now undoubtably filling their pockets with good-natured but havoc-wreaking Dungbombs for his bed later, James shook his head. "Not at all. I was just going to catch up with my studies, I mean, you know how seriously I take those. Spent all last weekend finishing up that essay on the properties of Monkshood for Frewin, three days ahead of time, just so I could have this weekend free."

"Remus Lupin told me the reason he was late for Divination last week was because he had to hunt you down and get his notes back from you for that essay when you'd finished copying them at the last minute after nicking them out of his bag." she said mildly.

"Oh, well," James said with a grin, unpertubed, "I mean I was finishing it up _in spirit_, you know, and aren't you always saying, Lily, that it's the thought that counts?"

She laughed and smiled slyly up at him. "Just don't try to convince any teachers your very best well-intentioned wishes is better than a completed NEWT exam." Her own words seemed to have a sobering effect on her, and her brows knit suddenly. "Have you been studying for your NEWTS, James? Remus told me he was worried about you and your dedication to your studies."

To avoid answering the question, James said, bracingly, "So, you've been talking to Remus about me all the time, have you? Can't get me out of your head, eh?" The embarassed sort of grin she gave him was better than any spoken response, and James felt as though he'd just taken a swallow of warm Butterbeer.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. This close to Christmas, Hogwarts was mostly empty, all of it's students in their third year and above down in Hogsmeade for last minute shopping before they went home for the holidays. James himself had hunted Remus down just this morning, pressing a bag of gold on him and a hastily written Christmas list in the hallway outside the Ravenclaw common room after he'd made his plans with Lily. Somehow, he didn't think Sirius would have appreciated "the thought" for Christmas quite as much as he would have that handy new penknife he'd been eyeing.

He did feel a little guilty that the only gift he had bought himself had been the one he'd gotten for Lily, several weeks prior at the last Hogsmeade weekend. He'd done most of the shopping under his Invisibility Cloak, not wanting to chance being seen. As fond as he was of Lily, he wasn't quite ready to endure the relentless teasing from Sirius and the others just yet; he wanted all his embarassments to be as contained (and preferably non-existent) as possible for _as long _as possible.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" Lily was saying now, expression once again serious as she looked up at him. A frost was beginning to form on her blue and black knitted cap, and James reluctantly admitted it would be time to go inside soon, before they both had to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey, the pretty young new nurse in the Hospital Wing, for a warming up potion.

"No," he said, "who won the last Quidditch match? I hope it was the Cannons . . . not bad for newcomers, are they?"

"I don't know," Lily replied with a trace of her old impatience, "I'm not talking about that, James. I'm talking about the latest attack."

Just like that, the cold that James had thus far only been feeling in his boots had suffused his entire body and destroyed the pleasantly warm sensation that had been inside him the whole afternoon. "No," he said quietly, "what happened?"

Looking forward again, Lily scowled into the tangle of bushes at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "The Longbottoms were hit while they were doing some last-minute holiday shopping in London last night. You remember Alice going on about how her sister loved anything Muggle-ish."

James stopped walking abruptly, siezing her by her arm. "Are they alright?" he asked urgently, paling. "What happened? Did they catch who did it?"

Lily covered his hand reassuringly with her own, although her expression remained dark. "They're okay. Whoever did it was sloppy about it . . . tried to put the Cruciatus Curse on them in the middle of a crowded department store . . . it was complete madness, I hear, they hit some poor old Muggle woman instead, they thought she was going to die before it was lifted. It meant a lot of work for the Ministry covering it up, memory charms left and right." she let out a deep breath, shaking her head. "But even if they didn't pull it off, it was still bloody bold of them . . . it's got people worried." she added, with a compassionate look at him.

Too late James tried to cover up the expression on his face, and settled for a weak smile as they resumed walking. Alice Leppington and Frank Longbottom had been two years ahead of him, both in Gryffindor. James himself had been especially fond of Frank, who, with his good-natured streak of rebelliousness and talent for Quidditch, had quickly become the sort of older brother James had always wanted. Frank and Alice had already been together by the time James had arrived at Hogwarts, and it came as no surprise to anyone that they had gotten married almost immediately upon leaving school. James still made a point of visiting them every summer.

He had always thought of them as the perfect couple, the sort of affection that passed between them in their gazes when they looked at one another something he hoped to share with . . . someone . . . one day. That didn't change the fact that he had thought they were both being abysmally stupid when they'd openly named themselves enemies of and joined the newly formed defense league against the newest threat to the wizarding world.

Voldemort.

"They're okay, James." Lily repeated now, after the silence had spun out between them. With a jolt, he realised her hand was still on his. "I knew Alice. She's strong." She smiled up at him.

"I know." The smile had more heart to it this time around. "I just worry, you know? They're putting themselves in danger . . . someone else could be handling all this."

"Well," she said, "it's gotten bad lately . . . haven't you noticed? Students are torn between staying here where they feel safest with all the teachers, and going home with their families. They don't know where to turn, and things just keep getting worse. I suppose . . . I suppose they just want to do their part. You know how they are."

They were heading back towards the school now, the sky taking on a bruised look as night approached. In the distance, a long line of straggling black shapes, Hogwarts students wrapped in their winter cloaks, made it's way slowly towards the warmth of it's halls. "I know." James said again. "I just don't want to spend the rest of my life worried about attacks and who might be waiting around every corner."

Lily smiled at him again. "Don't worry," she said, "we won't. Everything is being handled."

James looked at her and, suddenly uncaring of whatever teasing he might have to endure when he returned to the common room that night, slipped his arm around her shoulders. He walked with a definite spring in his step when she slipped one around his waist in turn as they walked up the castle steps.

----------

Peter watched James and Lily disappear, pressed close together, into the school. He was standing outside the gamekeeper's hut, red-cheeked from the snow and a sense of embarassment. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on them, really. And he hadn't intended to find them, either. After leaving the Three Broomsticks, he'd spent much of his time merely wandering the snow-choked streets, finally returning to the school grounds when he was so cold he could hardly stand it, and out of breath.

He wasn't angry at James, exactly. More than anything, Peter worshipped him, and Remus and even Sirius to a lesser degree. He was more than aware that without their friendship, he would have been completely alone at Hogwarts. It was easy for poor, pudgy, shy Peter Pettigrew to completely escape the notice of the other students.

_Except the Slytherins_, he thought, darkly. He resumed walking towards the school, swinging his arms for balance as he lifted his short legs with difficulty above the deep snow. He soon found himself walking through the path Lily and James had cut, thinking once again of the way James had left them high and dry in favour of her. Remus and Sirius had been unconcerned, but for Peter, it had been deeply worrying. What if James abandoned them entirely, now that Lily had decided he was worth her time? What if Sirius and Remus followed suite? Sirius, as guilty as Peter felt at the thought, would be no great loss, as he knew Sirius viewed him as a minor distraction at best. But Remus had always at least made the greatest effort to include Peter in everything, and, as much as he admired James, Remus had always been the one who was kindest and the most patient with him.

At the foot of the stone steps, Peter stopped abruptly. He found himself staring up at the massive stone school, wondering if he could bear it if he suddenly found himself alone in it's long halls, once again reduced to slinking embarassed and unnoticed from class to class alone as he had in his first year before he'd met James and the others. True, he wouldn't be in school after this year, but that just meant facing a much wider world than the school on his own, completely alone.

_You're being stupid_, he told himself, but even his own voice sounded uncertain to him.

If he didn't have his friends, where would he be?


	4. Secret Keeper Chapter 4

Secret Keeper - Chapter Four

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The Great Hall was filled with the usual clamour the following morning. The apprehensive mood that had initially permeated it had been lifted when the Daily Prophet, delivered by hundreds of owls in all colours, nearly every student having taken out a subscription, had contained no new worrisome news to follow-up the attack on the Longbottoms yesterday, the W.O.R.R.I.E.R. (Wizarding Organized Responsible Risk Informant and Endangerment Report) level in the upper right hand corner next to the date glowing a pleasantly reassuring shade of fuschia. Remus only glanced at this and skimmed the front page -- stopping only briefly to re-read a headline on alternate career choices for werewolves ("Hedge-trimmers! Effective guards against unwanted In-Laws! And more!") with some amusement -- before folding it up and tucking it into his bag to be thrown out later.

The Ravenclaw table was abuzz with chatter about plans for the holidays, and Remus leant it only half an ear as he set about eating. He himself had already signed up to stay at the school over Christmas, under the pretense of catching up on his studies, but really to keep Sirius and Peter company. With James heading home for Christmas, Remus knew that Sirius had signed on to stay, unwilling to spend the holidays in his own newly-purchased and lonely flat, and Peter himself went home only reluctantly during the summer holidays. James's parents had made it quite clear that all three of them were more than welcome to come and stay, but Sirius had been making a point to seem more self-reliant, and Peter seemed merely uncomfortable. While the Potter household always offered a wonderful retreat from school, especially around the holidays, Remus didn't regret his decision, however; he really _did _intend to catch up on his studying when not with his friends. After all, his last essay in Transfiguration had only gotten one-hundred-and-five-percent.

"Morning, Remus." Lily said brightly as she dropped into the empty seat beside him. She pulled a basket of fried bannocks towards herself with relish, already spearing several pieces of cumberland ham from a nearby plate with her fork. "Ooooh, lovely. All we ever have at home is porridge, you know . . . I love my mum, mind, but she could do with a cooking lesson or two."

"Where on earth do you keep it all?" Remus asked, aghast, staring at her slender frame as she tipped bacon on top of the ham.

"A growing girl needs her energy." she said, after swallowing a large mouthfull of bacon with difficulty.

"Keep that up and you'll be growing sideways instead of up." he said with a grin, finally starting in on his own plate as well.

At the teacher's table, stretching to either wall at the end of the Hall, the talk looked to be no less cheerful. Professor Frewin had adorned his sweeping green robes with sprigs of holly and twinkling, imitation fairy lights around the cuffs. Reubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper, was in a good mood as always, but was wearing a festive -- if hideous -- vast green and red checked shirt under his usual moleskin coat. Tiny Professor Flitwick had finished his breakfast and was now issuing lazy streams of present and reindeer shaped silvery bubbles from the tip of his wand, much to the delight to a group of first year Hufflepuffs. And Professor Dumbledore, rarely dour no matter what the season, was himself enjoying a plate of what looked like green pancakes and red kippers. While coloured food had little appeal for Remus, he was more reassured by the sight of the chipper teachers than he was by any colour on the Prophet.

These past few months had been the source of precious little to feel good about. Not in the past hundreds of years had the wizarding community seen a threat the likes of the one which had chosen to rear it's head these past seven years . . . nor had the Muggle world, though it was as of yet unawares. When the attacks had first began, the panic had been stupendous; promient members of the wizarding community found dead in their homes, shockingly brazen acks of thievery on the most well-guarded places. There hadn't been any point to it, at least at first. No demands made, not even a visible face behind it all.

Of course, that had been nothing compared to the panic when the name Voldemort finally became known.

Nor to the violence that followed after.

"I know it isn't the best," Lily was saying irritably, her words cutting through Remus's thoughts, "but you don't have to scowl at it like that."

Startled, Remus blinked. She was holding a black tie under his nose. It looked hand-made, a single tasteful small golden snitch embroidered on the bottom. "What's this?"

A look of exasperation crossed her face. "Remus, where have you been? I just told you! It's the tie I made for James for Christmas. I wanted to get your opinion . . . "

Smiling now as he mentally shook the last unpleasant remants of his thoughts off, he took the tie from her and studied it more closely. "It's wonderful, Lily . . . and you made it yourself? What spell did you use? I mean, I don't know much about the home economic spells, but . . . "

"I used knitting needles, Remus. Knitting needles." She smiled wryly at him as she took the tie back and folded it carefully before slipping it into her pocket. "Not all of us got to grow up using magic for every little thing you know." Before he could respond, she had taken out something else and handed it to him. "Now, what d'you think about this? I used magic for _that_."

Curious, Remus tilted it up to the light streaming in from the windows. It looked to be some sort of golden clip, worked in the form of a rearing lion. When he looked at the line itself, the lion's head turned and bared it's teeth at him in a ferocious expression that was undoubtably a smile. Etching on the golden scroll of parchment the lion stood on read, _Embodying all the qualities of the above_.

"I bought the clip, of course," Lily was saying, beaming down at it affectionately, "and I did the etching myself . . . that's dead useful, that charm, isn't it? And of course, I made it smile . . . it's more cheerful than that horrible snarl it had before, don't you think?"

"Yes, and it's very nice, but . . . " Trailing off, Remus looked at her curiously.

"It's a scarf clip, to keep your scarves in place." She took a long swallow of pumpkin juice and pushed her picked-clean plate away from her. "For Peter."

Remus was so surprised he nearly dropped it as he handed it back to her. "Peter _Pettigrew_?"

"Well, yes. Your Peter. I mean, I know he doesn't like me very much -- "

"Lily, that's not true." Remus protested.

" -- but I want to make the effort to be his friend, since he's James's." she went on, as though he hadn't spoken. The clip went back into the pocket with the tie, smiling until it vanished out of sight. "I'd like it if I could get to know him better."

"That's fine," Remus said, rising with her as the whole table finished eating and began to head for the doors, "that's a really good idea, in fact. But really, Lily, he doesn't _dislike _you."

Lily, however, merely gave him a wise look as they walked out, tossing her fall of red hair over her shoulder.

They wound their way through the halls with several other seventh year Ravenclaws. A quick glance at their schedule indicated that Divination was first on the list, and Remus was privately glad that a recent illness had prompted their Divinations teacher, Professor Fensworthy, to move her class out of the drafty dungeon room she had previously occupied into a much warmer room on the first floor. Lily chattered happily as they walked about her plans for the holidays -- going home to her family, by the sound of it -- bag swinging at her side.

Remus was too aware of how odd a pair they made; pretty, vivacious Lily Evans in her immaculate robes, and pale, drawn Remus Lupin, looking even shabbier than usual by comparison. The truth was, although she had never been unfriendly before, she had only recently begun to spend more time around him, shortly after she had begun to warm up to James. Remus, who was usually more than happy to go from class to class with his gaze locked firmly in the pages of a book, was nonetheless glad for the company. He'd often felt jealous of James, Sirius, and Peter, all together in the same house; although he was on friendly terms with the other seventh years, he'd always wanted to be part of the group that were the remaining three Marauders as they waved to him, passing in a clump on their way to the next class.

Lily had been silent for a few minutes before she spoke again, looking up at him. "Aren't you going to ask me how last night went?" she asked, looking slightly disappointed.

"I didn't want to pry. Besides, I'd have thought you'd have already told all your friends all about it the moment you got back."

"Not really." she admitted, before grinning. "All my friends have always fancied James a bit, honestly, and if I started talking about him again, they'd just think I was bragging. Besides," she added, shoving him gently, "you're my friend, too, aren't you? And I'd rather talk to someone about it who'll be happy for me."

Smiling now himself, Remus asked, "I take it it went well then? James didn't try to impress you by spelling out your name in the sky with his broom and fly straight into the Whomping Willow instead?"

Lily laughed. "No, but I think he might have, if the captain didn't have all the brooms in for a mandatory check up. He mentioned that." She smiled again, eyes going distant. "He showed up outside the common room with his hair all slicked down, though . . . not that it didn't stay that way for long. It was a lovely time, though. We didn't really do anything special, but we spent a lot of time walking around the grounds and just . . . talking."

"Well," Remus said with a slight smile, "that's special, isn't it?"

Lily looked up at him again and smiled as they stopped outside the classroom with the other students. "Yes . . . yes, I suppose it is."

He was about to ask her wether they'd made any further plans when the door opened and tall, thin young man in faded black robes with green trimming stepped out. He looked mildly taken aback to find the hallway filled now with students, and had started to turn to leave when his eyes suddenly met Remus's. A familliar expression of great dislike crossed his sallow face as his upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly. "Hello, Severus." Remus said mildly.

Severus Snape merely continued to glare at him with loathing before turning to go, chin lifting arrogantly. Lily, however, stepped forward and grabbed his arm before he could get more than a couple steps away. "Hang on," she said angrily, "Remus said hello to you."

Snape yanked his arm away, taking a step backwards and now including her in the malevolence smouldering in his dark eyes. "I heard him perfectly." he said stiffly. "My hearing is as well as yours, Evans, or do you have mud gumming up your ears as well as your veins?"

Remus felt his polite expression falter. In effort to make his remaining year as pleasant as possible, he had made it a point to try to smooth any feathers he might have ruffled during his years as much as possible. Where, in Snape's case, reconciliation was about as possible as Remus bellowing his lycanthropic condition from the teacher's table at lunch time in the Great Hall, he had simply made the decision to keep things as forcibly polite as possible. Now, however, he found himself taking a step forward. "That's out of line, Severus." he said, coldly.

Lily's expression, however, remained calm. "This is our last year sharing each other's happy company, Severus. Surely it isn't too much to ask to at least keep our mouths shut if we can't say anything nice about one another?"

For an instant, it looked as though Snape was on the verge of going even further with the insults than he had. The other Ravenclaw students, however, had fallen silent in their own conversations and were now listening closely to the exchange. Unwilling to press in the company of an already hostile opposing house, Snape's lip only curled once, before his face lapsed into calm as though someone had wiped off the animosity with a cloth. "Perhaps you're right, Evans." he said smoothly. One hand rubbed almost absently at his forearm. "We all must do what we can to make these troubled times bearable, musn't we?" he added, before turning and sweeping off down the corridor.

Looking surprised but pleased, Lily smiled in bewilderment after him. "That was less painful than I thought."

Equally surprised, Remus shrugged. He was glad Snape hadn't said anything that would have forced him to do something he'd regret later, but the whole encounter struck him as very odd. As far as he knew, Snape didn't take Divination, and was probably late for whatever class he had now.

Conversation gradually rose in the corridor again amidst the Ravenclaws, but now it rang oddly. The corridor was now completely devoid of any other students, and the distant drone of voices came from other classrooms. Lily glanced at her watch. "The Professor's a bit late getting started, isn't she?" she murmured.

"You know how she is." piped up a nearby Ravenclaw boy. "Probably making sure all our chairs are properly positioned for maximum flow of harmonious energy through the room."

Several students laughed, but only a slight smile begged at the corners of Lily's mouth. "Maybe I should just poke my head in and see if she needs some help . . . remember last time she kept us all waiting because she wanted to position that huge globe model of the universe in the center of the room to study? It took all of us to roll it off of her."

Remus laughed, but quickly covered his smile when she shot him a disapproving look. "Go on then," he said, "just a quick look. Don't blame me if she fortells you failing your exams for interrupting her."

Shooting him an exasperated look, Lily stepped up to the door. She rapped once with her knuckles, waited a moment, then laid her hand on the handle and pushed. "Professor?" she called tentatively. "Do you need any help in there? . . . Professor? We . . . we . . . _haaaaaah_ . . . " Suddenly hitching in a great breath as the door swung inwards, Lily's hands flew to her mouth as she staggered backwards into the curious knot of Ravenclaws, green eyes suddenly huge in her pale face.

Alarmed, Remus hurried forward. By this time, several other students had peeked into the doorway as well. One girl leapt back as Lily had, tripping and falling in her haste to get away. "What's going on? What is it?" Remus asked breathlessly, as he pushed aside a student. "Professor Fe--" He broke off, one hand suddenly clutching the door with a death grip, the other suddenly limp, dropping his bag at his feet. The already strained seam burst, sending quills, books, and empty bottles of ink scattering across the floor.

One such bottle rolled in a circular arc across the polished wooden floor. It came to a rest only when it bumped gently against the outstretched hand of Professor Fensworthy, who was sprawled splay-legged on her back on the floor, mouth agape, and eyes staring quite glassily and unmistakably blankly at the ceiling above.

Remus barely heard it when several of the Ravenclaws began to scream. He found himself sitting down quite suddenly and very hard on the floor, suddenly cold as ice.


	5. Secret Keeper Chapter 5

Secret Keeper - Chapter Five

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Professor Fensworthy's death caused shockwaves of terror throughout the school, news travelling so quickly amidst the students that soon every student in every house knew before all of the teachers had yet been alerted. More confusing was the fact that those students still in class were not permitted to leave, and instead went through their lessons with trembling hands and pale faces, exchanging frightened glances.

Remus had barely paused long enough to leave Lily at the hospital ward before taking off at a brisk pace towards the Headmaster's office. His body urged, _screamed _for him to run, but he knew if he gave in, panic wouldn't be far behind, and he wouldn't be able to stop. And so he forced himself to clip through the corridors as slowly as he was able, one hand swinging stiffly at his side, the other clenched around the handle of his wand hard enough that his fingers ached. The image of Professor Fensworthy's slack, unseeing face kept surfacing in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to force it out. It seemed impossible that the lifeless body on the floor had once been inhabited by the same stubborn, enthusiastic spirit he had known for so long.

And Snape . . .

_Snape _. . .

_That's impossible_, his mind shot at him, before the thought even had time to form, _alright, so maybe he's a bit of a slimeball, but he wouldn't . . . he _couldn't

Remus had been so deeply immersed in thought that he had nearly walked straight past the headmaster's office. His feet were propelling him forward faster than he would have liked, and it took an effort to make them stop. What he really wanted to do was keep walking -- maybe even give in and run -- right down the staircase and out of the castle, not stopping until he reached the safety of him. _Some werewolf_, he thought gloomily, _I don't think people would find me quite as terrifying if they knew how easily I go to pieces._

He had barely raised his hand to knock when the door swung open and he found himself face to face with Professor Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Remus. I thought I might be seeing you soon." he said solemnly. His face was grave, but his eyes were kind as he stood aside. "Come in."

Feeling suddenly duck-footed, Remus could only bow his head and murmur in embarassment as he stepped hastily inside. A single high-back soft-upholstered wooden chair had been placed in front of the massive desk, and he dropped into it. He felt just as off-balance and cotton-headed as he had his first day at Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly seemed a hundred times more intimidating as he took his seat. The professor's long beard and hair were almost completely white now, though strands of glimmering, pale auburn still remained. He folded his long hands across the desk and looked at Remus. "What can I do for you, my boy?"

"P-Professor Fensworthy . . . " Remus began uncertainly. "I mean . . . y-you've heard?"

The headmaster sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "A great tragedy, one that happens to us all, but affects even more those we love. Ariadne's family have been notified already . . . they will want to see to her."

Relieved as he was at this, Remus found himself even more put-off by Professor Dumblefore's words. "Yes, but . . . well, we're not all m-m-m-murdered by dark wizards, are we?" There was a plaintive note to this he wish he could have swallowed, but stubbornly remained.

A trace of a smile came to Professor Dumbledore's lips as he shook his head once. "No, Remus. Not if I have anything to say about it. Nor is that the fate that met your Professor. Age, Remus." he said, before Remus could ask. He held out one long hand over the desk, candlelight catching the lines etched across his palm and skin. "Age comes to us all. I am sure you had noticed that Professor Fensworthy was far from the young lady she was when she first came to teach for us, even if she did not act like it."

For a moment, Remus didn't respond. He was thinking of the round, impossibly wrinkled face that was both kind yet stern that had prompted him to take Divination in the first place, years ago. "Then . . . then what did . . . "

"A heart attack, Remus." Professor Dumbledore bowed his head. "Wizards and witches are not above mortality. Death comes to us all, Remus, and sometimes the form it takes comes not through magical intervention . . . as we should all have the fortune to discover." He paused. "Surely you would not wish such a fate as murder on your teacher?"

"No!" Remus said, appalled. "No, of course not, Headmaster! But . . . but . . . Severus Snape . . . " He trailed off. When Professor Dumbledore only continued to look at him, waiting, he forced himself to continue. "Well, I mean . . . he came out of the classroom right before Lily, and . . . and he said . . . "

"Severus Snape could no more cause a heart attack than I could transform my desk into a gigantic lemon sweet . . . believe me, I have tried on occasion, when I find my stores depleted." For an instant, his face broke into a smile that finally dissolved some of the chill that had formed around Remus. "Ariadne Fensworthy's death was a tragedy. I am aware of the animosty your friends -- and a . . . handful of other students -- harbour towards young Severus. I am also aware that it is mutual. But in times such as these, Remus," he continued, expression once again hardening into seriousness, "you must learn to separate your true enemies from your quarrels."

"I . . . I'm sorry, Headmaster." Feeling suddenly ashamed, as though he had somehow disgraced Professor Fensworthy's memory by allowing his own differences to come into play, Remus dropped his gaze to his feet.

"My dear boy," said Professor Dumbledore, gently, "there is no need. You are one of the brightest students Hogwarts has seen in years, and you have the potential to do great things . . . great things, indeed. You, like everyone else in this school, are human," his eyes twinkled slightly, "whatever your condition might say. And that means you are prey to the same emotions we all are." Abruptly, he glanced at the hourglass on his desk and gave a small start. "You will forgive me, please, Remus, but I really must be going . . . Ariadne's family will be arriving soon."

"Of course, Headmaster." Remus got awkwardly to his feet and half attempted a bow before he stopped himself, face flushing.

Rising from his chair, Professor Dumbledore guided him to the door with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You are excused from classes for the rest of the day, I think . . . you may want to go and visit Miss Evans in the hospital ward, though I daresay she shall be feeling fine very soon . . . our new nurse is a wonder." he smiled. "And I have no doubt your friends Mr Potter and Mr Black are already with her . . . that wonderful map of yours."

"How did you . . . " Remus began, before he trailed off, feeling foolish. Silly to think that the Headmaster of Hogwarts would not be aware of such a magical item under his own nose. "Thank you, Headmaster."

As he turned to go, however, his steps much more controlled in the halls now, Remus realised he was still uneasy. If Snape had not had anything to do with the Professor's death, why had he not reported it?

_And what's more, _he thought suddenly, the notion rising unbidden out of nowhere, _she didn't look as though she died of a heart attack to me. She looked as though she died of fright_.

It wasn't until he was just outside the door to the hospital ward that he realised his hand was still clenched around his wand, and it took him a tremendous amount of effort to let go.

----------

Whatever trepidation the villagers of Hogsmeade might hold towards the Shrieking Shack, Peter Pettigrew found it quite the comforting retreat. Of course, he knew of it's origins as they didn't, and the werewolf that was the source of it was no doubt currently sitting in his Divinations class. It was quite comforting, however, to sit as a rat in the darkest corner under a faded and dillapidated sofa in the destroyed lounge, listening to his own thoughts in the silence.

Peter felt more than a little guilty for skipping his lessons. Under the pretense of returning back to Gryffindor Tower for a book, he'd parted from an usually bouyant James and Sirius on their way to Transfiguration that morning, and then simply made his way here. He had no doubt they knew where he was -- rat or no, the Marauder's Map would show Peter Pettigrew crouched right where he was -- and he supposed he would have to think up a good excuse when they found him at lunch.

The truth was, Peter had felt the need to clear his head. These days, with graduation fast approaching and the threat looming over the world, he had found himself wishing more and more for one of the Pensieves his mother had in her own rooms. Rat or no, he felt very small these days, and it often seemed as though James, Remus, and Sirius were towering above him, stronger and more assured than he would ever be. Rather than being comforted by their strength, Peter found himself increasingly dismayed by it. They had countless people in their own houses and others who would be clamouring to be their friends -- what did they need one particularily inept wizard for?

James, it seemed, was already moving on. He had laughed and smiled for as long as Peter had known him in the company of his friends, but he had never smiled like he had with Lily Evans last night. That smile had transformed his entire face, the entire way he walked, and lit up his eyes. It had, Peter thought, made him look as though he were something more than entirely human, and the glow had suffused Lily as well.

Peter felt a sudden pang of irritation towards her, and he hunched closer to the cold wooden floor. She had hardly given James the time of day the entire time they'd been at Hogwarts, where Peter, Sirius, and Remus had given him the best days of his life. What right did she have to suddenly decide she wanted a piece of his affections and shunt them all aside? What's more, why didn't Sirius and Remus seem to recognize it?

_"Peter . . . _"

The voice was so sudden that it startled Peter completely back into human form, smacking his head on the underside of the suddenly cramped sofa and gasping with fright. He scrambled out and looked wildly around. The room appeared empty, layered with debris and cobwebs, the furniture somehow seeming forlorn. He had nearly decided he had imagined it when he heard it again. "_Peter . . . _"

This time it seemed to have been whispered directly into his ear, and he gasp, whirling around and batting at the air in a mad fright. His heart thudded madly in his chest as he found himself facing a draperied window. There was nothing behind him, but he could not shake the feeling that he was not alone; voice aside, the hair was raised on his arms, and it seemed as though he could feel the weight of their gaze on his skin.

Peter hurriedly pulled his wand from his sleeve, almost dropping it in his haste. It trembled as he raised it before him. "Who's there?" he had tried for the commanding tone Sirius had managed with the Slytherins, but it instead came out in a quaver.

The draperies billowed, though the window was closed.

Peter twitched, half turning to flight before he checked himself. If all he was hearing was the wind blowing through the empty rooms, he'd never hear the end of it from Sirius. He took a hesitant step forward, hand outreached, wondering dismally how draperies could seem so smug. There could be nothing hiding behind them; they hung flat against the window.

For an instant, just before his hand touched them, something mad came awake, screaming with fright within his mind. _Run! _it cried. _Run as fast as you can, and don't look back! Don't EVER turn back!_

"_Peter . . . _" the room sighed again. There seemed to be considerable longing in it.

Mouth trembling, Peter's hand fisted itself in the fabric. He didn't want to open it, but he felt as though he had to. He wrenched it aside, screaming before he even saw anything, wand clattering to the floor.

The apparition on the other side of the cracked and dirty window placed one long, white hand against the glass, cowled head drawing closer. "_Peter . . . _" it breathed. "_Are you lonely . . . ?_"


	6. Secret Keeper Chapter 6

Author's Note: My first stab at Potter-Fiction in months. Hopefully it really is like riding a bike. It helps that writing Sirius and Remus is like writing old friends, but Peter is still making himself known. -- Dec. 2004

Secret Keeper - Chapter Six

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_. . . never want to see you again . . . _

_. . . how could you? . . . _

_. . . just like your father, always running away . . . _

_. . . how COULD you? . . . _

_. . . please stop . . . _

_. . . I'll never forgive you._

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He awoke as if he was coming up for air.

Thrashing breathlessly, Peter clawed at the air in front of his face before he managed to flip himself over onto his stomach, worming his way blindly along the floor, head snapping from side to side. An instant later, his eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at the wall, sucking in great breaths of air so quickly he felt dizzy. The floor seemed to kilt left and right unpredictably beneath him, and he hugged his body to it, almost whimpering.

Gradually, however, his racing heart began to falter, and his mind began to clear. Instead of a dull mesh of shapes and colours, the room came clearly into focus, and he remembered where he was even before he made sense of the dusty floor, the overturned furniture, and the gouges on the walls, revealing crumbling plaster and splintered timbers beneath. Still, he was reluctant to get up; his body seemed to balk at the thought, and he actually cringed at the brush of cold air across the back of his neck before he realised what it was.

But what had him so frightened?

Even before his confusion could take shape, he remembered.

The apparition at the window.

The voice, like something from a grave, spitting cobwebs and chill into his ear.

With a gasp, Peter sat up and looked wildly around. His heart leaped into his throat again and seemed to force aside any attempts at breathing, and for a moment, he swayed uneasily. After a moment, however, he realised the room was empty, save himself, although his view was somewhat obscured given his vantage point.

He was still beneath the couch.

Confused, Peter twisted around now. Hadn't he scrambled out from beneath it at the first words, frightened and sprawling on the floor? Even as he wondered, his mind registered the thick, coarse fur on his body, bristling at attention with his unease, almost painfully so.

With the realisation, Peter felt an abrupt wash of both relief and embarassment. It had been a dream. Of _course_. Stupid not to have realised it at first rather than getting spooked like a babe in a cradle from the shadows of trees on the walls. As a rat, his thoughts were sometimes unusual, disjointed, especially when he remained in it for long periods of time. Once, one night when Remus had worn himself out early -- no doubt both from rampaging in the Shack and from an onslaught of homework earlier that week -- Peter had found himself dozing off while the others had romped through the rooms below, and his dreams had been a confusing blur of colours and meaningless sounds, and he'd woken to find he'd chewed a hole in a faded velvet armchair and burrowed inside, much to the amusement of his friends.

Considering how stressful these past few weeks had been, it was no wonder he'd had the nightmare, although he'd never had one so vivid. If Sirius and James knew he'd first skipped class, fallen asleep by way of chosen deviant activity, and then woken squeaking and twitching in alarm, he'd never hear the end of it. And the more he thought of it, the more childish it seemed; not just _having _a nightmare, which was embarassing enough given his age, but the quality of it itself. Some looming ghost outside a window in the dark moaning his name? Please.

Peter slunk guiltily out from under the couch, head down and ears flat, glancing from side to side as though he expected to find the room suddenly full of snickering Slytherin. It was dark now in the room, and he knew he'd probably slept through several classes, which would require some difficult talking to explain, although detention from at least one teacher was probably inevitable. Shadows loomed around him, and for a moment a twinge of fear nagged at him, but he shook his head vigorously, casting off both his rodent form and the last vestiges of the dream with it. Standing, he shook off the thick clumps of dust and debris from his robes, trying his best to seem casual and unconcerned. Already, he was thinking with trepidation of the very real pile of homework waiting for him back in the common room. He turned to begin the long crawl back down the cold tunnel to the school grounds . . .

. . . and paused.

Another gust of wind tugged at him again, and he turned towards it's source, frowning.

The large window stood open, moth-eaten curtains too thick for the winter wind to do more than shuffle weakly, snow spiralling in from outside.

His wand lay at his feet.

Slowly, Peter bent and picked it up. He must have dropped it when he'd first come in, _had _to have. And the window must have swung open of it's own accord; the Shrieking Shack was barely standing at all from the countless times Remus Lupin had vented his lyncanthropic energies on it over the years.

Regardless, Peter did not linger overlong on his way back to the school, and his footsteps were a little too hurried for his liking as he stumbled blindly down the dark tunnel.

However strange and unsettling this day had been, at least he had the comfort and safety of the Gryffindor common room to look forward to. And whatever may happen outside, nothing ever happened within the schools long halls these days.

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In the days following Professor Fensworthy's unfortunate death, even an official announcement by Professor Dumbledore couldn't completely quell the rumours that flew amidst the students that something darker had been responsible. Over the course of a few days, the rumours and stories became wilder and wilder until passing through the crowded corridors between classes one day, Sirius heard one of the Ravenclaw girls who had been there for the grisly discovery swearing up and down to a friend that she had seen Voldemort himself stampeding out of the classroom on the back of a raging, fire-breathing Thestral mere moments after they had heard the thundred words, _Avada Kedavra_.

She claimed the reason none of the other Ravenclaws supported or remembered this was because, like Lily Evans who had sunk into a most unbecoming and unusual swoon, they were simply struck dumb with horror at the sight.

Even if these claims hadn't been as outlandish as they were, Sirius would have paid little attention to them anyway. He put no stock in rumours (even the ones he had spread occasionally himself with vicious glee when he was younger, typically unflattering ones involving Lucius Malfoy and the giant squid) in the best of times, especially not now when he had the word of Remus Lupin to rely upon.

Remus had been called upon by students of every house in the past few days to recount the discovery over and over, and although he had delivered it flatly and without variation countless times, most people still seemed to think he was hiding something. He was slumped in one of the comfortably lopsided armchairs in front of one of the library's few lit fireplaces currently, looking even more weary than usual. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced then Sirius had ever seen them. "I just don't understand," he said with a sigh, "you'd think they _wanted _me to say she was murdered, you'd think they _wanted _to have a reason to panic and be afraid."

"People can be stupid, mate," Sirius said sympathetically as he inspected a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean critically before cautiously popping it in his mouth and swallowing with a vaguely relieved expression, "some just aren't happy unless they've got something to go mad over." He stretched out his feet in the direction of the fire and sank down further into his own chair. "Don't let it bother you."

"But it does." Remus replied crossly. "It _does _bother me. What happened to Professor Fensworthy was a . . . a . . . a tragedy."

"Been talking to Dumbledore, have you?" Sirius smiled slightly. "Look, I'm not saying I knew her, but I guess she must have been an alright sort if you and Evans liked her. So what does it matter what a hundred stupid gits think when the people who _matter _know the truth and care?"

Remus fell silent for a moment, before looking up with a smile. "When did you get so sensitive, Padfoot?"

"Hanging around you so much, something was bound to rub off. Just don't spread it around, yeah? I've got a reputation."

They grinned at each other before lapsing into a comfortable silence, Remus lost in his own thoughts, and Sirius gazing lazily into the flames. It was, he thought, the perfect way to spend a late Saturday night; except for a few quietly murmuring students a few isles over, everyone else was doubtless already wrapped in their beds or around the fireplaces in their own common rooms. Remus had originally intended to use the silence of the library to study, urging Sirius to do the same; the books they'd taken from the shelves were now piled forgotten on a low table in front of them. Personally, Sirius didn't see what all the tremendous fuss was about. NEWTS, honestly; he had always done very well at his lessons with little or no effort, and he expected this one to be no different.

Mostly, he was glad for the feeling of comfort and easy camraderie in the room. Even as much as he had hated living at home under the thumb and scowling eye of his mother, at least there he had been around other people, even if he'd been mostly despised. While the new apartment he'd purchased just this past summer was his own -- blissfully his own -- it was also ringingly quiet at times. Although he would never come right out and say it, Sirius _needed _to be around people, especially people like James, Remus, and . . .

Sirius's head came up off his chest. "Peter never took Divination, did he?"

Remus stirred slightly, as though coming out of a light doze. His normally neat hair stood up in odd clumps. "What? . . . ah . . . no. Why?"

Instead of responding, however, Sirius only drummed his long fingers on the arm of the chair. "Did he know Professor Fensworthy?" he finally asked.

Making a visible effort, Remus pushed himself upright in his chair. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment before responding. "Don't think so. No more than you did, anyway. Why?" he asked again.

Sirius shrugged easily, dropping the bag of Every Flavour Beans out of sight into a pocket as the librarian glided quietly by. "Dunno. He's just been acting really off ever since she died. I thought maybe . . . " he trailed off and shrugged again, unconcerned.

"You think the Slytherins have been bothering him again?" There was a bit more alertness this time around in Remus's tone, and the set of his jaw was firmer. Sirius bit back a smile; of all of them, Remus had always been the quickest to make peace, or try to.

"Not as I know of. And we'd see the signs. Slytherins chanting more than usual in the corridor, Peter running to have counter-jinxes performed . . . " Sirius grinned, for a moment recalling a particularily nasty jinx Peter had been placed under by an ambitious Slytherin, one that had seen him vomitting up slugs for a week. Somehow, Sirius doubted the world would ever see the likes of that again, as, despite trying over and over as James and Sirius had advanced upon him, the Slytherin had been unable to reproduce the jinx again. "I think it's just nerves. You know, NEWTS and all."

Looking both disapproving and a touch envious, Remus said, "You don't sound particularily worried."

Sirius lofted his eyebrows. "Honestly? Even if I were to fail them all, what does it matter? I don't have any scowling parents at home waiting to scold me."

"Still," Remus said doubtfully, "what about work? Even the simplest of jobs these days usually require at least one NEWT."

Looking offended, Sirius laid a hand over his heart. "You think I can't get by on my good looks and charm?"

"Like I said," Remus said, grinning, "you'll need at least one NEWT in potions if you plan to get yourself those. And they're only temporary."


	7. Secret Keeper Chapter 7

Secret Keeper - Chapter 7

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It was hard to decide what was worse.

On the one hand, there were the people who constantly followed and badgered her as they did Remus Lupin. Was she _certain _she hadn't seen any dark shapes lurking in the corners? Was she _positive _she hadn't heard any sinister explosions? Was she _absolutely, positively sure _that Snape hadn't sprung out from behind the door like some malicious jack-in-the-box, hexed her right between the eyes, and then run off laughing maniacally down the corridor with his robes hitched high?

And then, on the other hand, there were the people that kept clustering protectively around her if she yawned, expecting her to suddenly sink to the floor in another embarassing faint. The people who held her hand reassuringly and spoke in soothing tones to her even when the conversation was mundane, in case she should suddenly burst into fits of uncontrollable tears. The people who _insisted _on standing up for her -- loudly -- whenever she suddenly found herself the subject of someone's disbelief or mockery of her recount of the situation . . . and usually adding a few of their own embellishments to "support" her story was well.

"It's _stupid _is what it is." Lily Evans said now, angrily, as she sat on the edge of her bed viciously attacking her hair wish a brush. "What, do they think I'm stupid just because I'm Muggle-born? Or fragile?"

When she received no response, she grunted to herself and tossed the brush aside on the bed and sat scowling at her feet for a moment before she finally looked up. "What's our first class?"

The girl sitting across from her on the next bed sat up straighter with a start. "Divination."

Lily's scowl deepened and she blew out an explosive breath. "I can't believe Dumbledore's already gone and found a replacement. So soon! You're lucky you were in the Hospital Wing; it was absolutely monstrous, Ingrid."

Ingrid Mowse, a short, scrawny girl with a pale face and perpetually worried eyes, shifted uncomfortably on the bed across from Lily. Privately, she didn't think she had been very lucky at all, given that she had been there waiting for the Hair-Gro potion to take effect after her partner in Charms had panicked during an examination and accidentally cursed it off instead of casting the charm he had been supposed to. She ran a hand nervously over her still-short, close-cropped dark hair. "Was it r-really very t-terrifying, Lily?" she asked hesitantly.

Lily frowned. "Not the way you're probably thinking." For a moment, the frown deepened on her face before vanishing, and she merely looked tired. Dark circles were visible under her green eyes, and Ingrid knew she hadn't been sleeping well. "It was . . . it was very sad, Ingrid. To know that I had just passed her singing carols on the hall just yesterday, and then to see her . . . gone, just like that." Her expression hardened and she looked up. "Anyone who says it was Voldemort or something is a _liar_, and they're disgracing her memory."

"I know, I know." Ingrid said quickly, holding up her hands, looking wounded. "I didn't . . . I didn't think she'd been m-m-m-murdered, but, you know . . . I've never seen someone . . . like _that _b-before, and I . . . " She trailed off, looking down at the floor as though she had been chastised.

Sighing, Lily heaved herself off the bed and gathered up her book bag. "I know. I'm sorry, Ingrid, I didn't mean to make you think I was angry at you . . . it's just been hard, okay? Everything's been upside-down these days."

Ingrid nodded once, although she kept her gaze downwards. Lily thought she had genuinely hurt the girl until Ingrid looked up suddenly with a shy smile. "You mean like J-James, too, don't you?"

Automatically, Lily opened her mouth to scoff, a response tempered by years of rebuking advances and giggles in the hallway. Her mind, however, cast smugly back to the night several days prior, and her stomach preformed a remarkable acrobatic flip. Her expression must have said enough, because Ingrid giggled hesitantly and smiled as she stood up. "D-don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"You had better not," Lily said, half-exasperated and half-bemused with herself as they headed down the stairs, "because his head doesn't need any more inflating."

The truth was, however, that Lily had been privately worried that finally agreeing to go out with James would make him worse than ever. The casual bravado he'd always had, she'd thought, would become even greater, his chest swelling so huge his robes would burst from the strain of it. Or so she'd thought.

Initially (she told herself, anyway) she had only agreed to go out with him to get a break from it all; the displays of "bravery" (stupidity) whenever she was around, the loud jokes (not funny) for her benefit when she passed by, the grandstanding (dangerous) at the Quidditch Pitch whenever he knew she was in the stands, Sirius Black's tendency to run into her in the hall loudly extolling Jame's latest witticism all the while waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly in James' direction while grinning wolfishly. She had told Ingrid and the other smugly smiling seventh year Ravenclaw girls as much as she'd gotten ready that night, trying to ignore how much more effort she found herself putting into her hair than usual as she did.

Still.

It had been . . . nice.

The walk through the snow, the meaningless talk and laughter about everything and nothing.

. . . the odd little flip her stomach had performed when she'd seen the sudden steeling of resolve in his eyes when he'd learned about Alice and Frank . . .

. . . maybe . . .

A sudden burst of laughter from the common room below brought Lily jarringly back to the present, away from thoughts of a warm arm around her shoulders in the cold of winter, and she nearly stumbled over an extremely rotund gray cat lounging on the stairs, who shot her a reproachful look before darting between her legs to the safety of the bedrooms. She realised she was blushing with embarassment as well as shame; what was she doing, mooning over someone while Professor Fensworthy's family mourned her?

At the foot of the stairs, she found Remus Lupin quietly going over what looked to be a rather hastily written bit of parchment with a frantic looking second year boy. " . . . and don't forget to enunciate. He's very specific on that, unless you don't mind doing an extra roll after class. Good morning, Lily. Ingrid."

Lily smiled, and Ingrid bobbed her head by way of greeting with an embarassed mumur. As the second year left, muttering distractedly to himself, Lily noticed for the first time how worn Remus looked. Of all the students, Remus had perhaps known the late professor the best, always eager for each upcoming lesson. Divination, Lily thought, was an odd subject for the usually literal-minded young man to begin with.

The corners of his mouth were pinched, the pallor of his skin sickly, and his shoulders slightly stooped. He must have noticed her looking because he straightened with a grimace he turned into a smile. "I think I'll have to see if James doesn't have a spare packet of Pepper Imps left from Honeydukes. I could do with a spring in my step. Between Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies, I think I barely have room left for any other subject. I've been driving everyone absolutely mad getting the two mixed up."

Relaxing slightly, Lily laughed. "You could just ask me about Muggle Studies, you know. I think I'd find a fair high mark on my NEWTS if I'd taken that over Potions. And I'd certainly be able to tell you that caring for a Muggle infant is nothing like taking care of a Flobberworm."

"I think I know someone who could d-disagree with you." said Ingrid, whose now-baffled older sister had just married into a Muggle family, having completely ignored Muggle Studies in favour of Charms.

The corridors, as they wound through them on their way to breakfast in the Great Hall, were filled with chatter of the upcoming holidays, the students beginning to reluctantly accept Ariadne Fensworthy's fate. With nothing to whisper furtively about, no new attacks having been reported, the talk had turned instead towards presents, travels, family, and returning home. Lily was forced to admit, it was impossible not to feel some press of holiday cheer, and with recent events, both in and outside of the school, Hogwarts seemed determined to take the students' minds off of anything dreary as possible by making every nook and cranny of the school as festive as possible. There were furled branches of pine wound around the portraits that, when tickled in the right place, would stretch out and shed a bit of glittering snow on the nearest person's head. The portrait inhabitants themselves had decorated the interior of their frames with delicate white holly berries, and many were prone to bursting into song whenever the portrait people from the kitchen stopped by with large amounts of egg-nogg. There was an enormous tree at the foot of the stairs in the entry way that grew it's own form of decoration in the form of large, luminous gift wrapping bows, which the students could pick for their own uses. Even Peeves, the poltergeist, seemed to be in a festive mood, although his means of celebration typically consisted of dumping pots of red and green ink upon the heads of those students not quick enough between classes, and Lily, Ingrid, and Remus were relieved to hear from an extremely disgruntled looking Hufflepuff that he had apparently taking to haunting the hallway outside the girl's bathrooms the next floor up today.

At the end of the long hallway that lead to the Ravenclaw's hidden room, they found Sirius Black lounging against the wall. Lily glanced quickly about, and when she realised he was alone, felt a pang of disappointment, and busied herself with rummaging in her bag for her timetable to hide the following blush. "Good morning, Sirius." Remus said as they drew near and he fell into loping step beside them.

"Morning, Remus." he responded in an oddly subdued tone. "Morning, Evans . . . er . . . "

"Sirius, you know Ingrid Mowse."

"Yes." Ingrid said, eyeing Sirius apprehensively, as though she expected his head to suddenly start spinning around while he emitted a series of loud cracks. "You b-borrowed a little of my acne medicine two years ago to p-p-pour in Lucius M-Malfoy's pumpkin juice."

"Oh, yeah." Sirius said, comprehension dawning. A pleased smile spread over his face as he remembered. "I always did say breakfast needed proper seasoning. Did I ever thank you for that?"

"Yes. In front of Lucius." Ingrid said, shuddering at the memory.

"Where's James?" Remus wanted to know, perhaps worried that further recollection might spark other ideas.

"Quidditch Pitch." Sirius said distractedly, rummaging in his pockets. A dungbomb, apparently (thankfully) a dud, fell out and bounced at his heels, scattering a group of students behind them with a small scream.

"Today?" Lily almost dropped her bag as she shot a surprised look outside. Although the mood in the castle was warm, outside a fierce wind was dashing spirals of snow against the windows, the sky angry and spitting forth intermittent bouts of hail. She pitied the group of students that would need to make treks through the snow and cold to the magically heated greenhouses. "Is he mad?"

Sirius gave her a lopsided grin as he fished a piece of crumpled paper from his robe pockets. "'Course. Geez, Evans, you'd think you know that by now. But his parents are staying in Bournemouth for the holidays, and that's always packed with Muggles. Says he wants to get in the practice he won't be able to on Chrismast Break so he doesn't get too rusty. You know he has to beat the Ravenclaws next term if he wants to take home the cup." he added, with a wry glance at their blue and black ties.

"He'd better hope his ego's fat enough to keep him in the air then, because his brain will be so frozen he'll be more likely to eat his broom than kick off." Lily said angrily.

He gave her a slightly surprised look before breaking into an approving grin. "You're alright, Evans. Here, Remus, take a look at this." He pressed the paper against Remus' chest.

Shifting his books to balance them against his hip, Remus awkwardly unfolded the paper and raised an eyebrow. "What, exactly, am I looking at?"

"That, mate, is the only surviving prototype of a very special invention siezed from the estate of one Fittipus Finch in London."

Looking curious, Ingrid craned her neck around Remus' elbow to look. "That was just last week. They're already s-selling this things?"

"If you know where to look." Sirius said, smiling slyly. "What d'you think?"

Lily looked. The paper was actually a very worn photograph, and the occupants looked distinctly disgruntled at their rumpled state, trying in vain to smooth the various creases on their faces. The photograph showed two stern-looking ministry officials examining a chained down piece of machinery. Ever since Lily had learned of her acceptance into Hogwarts and the magical world, her interest in all things Muggle had waned, even to the point where going home for the summer holidays meant she usually wound up staying indoors studying and practicing magic instead of going out to a movie. She had lost touch with new styles, new music trends . . . but she still recognised this.

"Sirius," she said, half amused, half exasperated, "what d'you want with a motorcycle?"

Plucking the picture from Remus' hand, Sirius crammed it back in his pocket as though a disapproving teacher had been looming over his shoulder. "Come on, Evans. Everyone gets around by floo powder, or broom, or Muggle transport these days. D'you think I want to be like everyone else?"

"Yes, Sirius," Remus said with a raised brow, "but a motorcycle?"

"You don't think they'd have it chained down like that if it were _just _a motorcycle, do you?" Sirius asked, smugly. "Old Finch was bonkers, but he was a genius. I think I can relate."

Bourne onwards by the tide of hungry students and staff members, the four finally reached the Great Hall, where Sirius parted from them with a brief word and headed off to join his fellow Gryffindors. Lily noticed the brief look of envy on Remus' face as Sirius was instantly greeted by a loud shout from his friends, and saw Peter Pettigrew amidst them. No doubt James would return soon as well, red-cheeked and grinning from the cold, and Lily knew, although he would never say it aloud and risk making Lily or Ingrid feel awkward, Remus really wished to be amidst his friends.

She also noticed the strange, contemplative, frowning expression come over Sirius' face that she had seen when he had joined them in the hall briefly appear again as he turned away . . . and the dark look he shot at the staff table.

Following his gaze, Lily blinked in surprise and tugged Remus' sleeve as they sat down at the Ravenclaw table. When he turned towards her inquiringly, she pointed. "Who is that?"

Sitting alone on the far right end of the staff table was a woman she had never seen before. She was tall and severe looking, painfully thin, and her features somehow pinched and strained looking, somehow ageless, although smooth and not unpleasant. Her long dark hair was piled on her head in a needlessly elaborate and aristrocratic bun, and her eyes were large and a pale, watery blue. She was idly paging through what looked like a copy of the Daily Prophet, her long, thin fingers twirling her wand absently in the air near her head, lips mouthing silently to herself. As Lily watched, the woman used her wand to spear a bit of sausage from her plate, and she popped it neatly into her mouth.

Remus' brows knit in confusion briefly. "Well . . . she must be the new Divinations teacher, I suppose, right? There aren't any other positions open."

Instantly, Lily felt something inside her bristle defensively. Although she knew she was being unfair, a part of her couldn't help but resent this woman who had so eagerly leapt upon the teaching position. _Couldn't half wait, could she? Just swept down, probably rapped on the Headmaster's door as soon as she heard . . . _

Even as she thought this, however, the woman looked up. Her pale eyes scanned the hall, and she gave a start as though surprised to find herself there. A moment later, however, she smiled slightly to herself, and it seemed to Lily their eyes met briefly across the hall. The woman's long fingers twiddled in a solemn wave, although her wand still twined between them. Then, abruptly, the wand stabbed downwards, spearing a large, wet piece of ham, and she forced the entire thing into her mouth, a rivulet of grease running down her chin.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Remus was saying, pulling a plate of fried eggs towards himself, having already looked away. "Don't you?"

Lily didn't respond.

She found herself oddly lacking in appetite.

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Author's Note: I only noticed it just in time, but the line Sirius says that begins "Everyone gets around by floo powder . . . " was actually initially typed "Everyone gets aroused by floo power." Oh, Sirius. You and your dirty mind. FLOO POWAH! punches air This chapter is one of the slowest, but I wanted a little time to build on Lily's character.


	8. Secret Keeper Chapter 8

Secret Keeper - Chapter 8

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"And how are you managing, Mr Pettigrew?"

Looking up from the fat rat that lay snoozing lazily on his desk, Peter found Professor McGonagall standing over him, arms folded, thin eyebrows raised. All around him, the other students had already finished transfiguring their rats into soft woolen balaclavas and were swapping the most brightly coloured ones about. "Is there some sort of problem?" she asked.

One of the classes Peter had missed had been Transfiguration when he'd stolen away the previous week. A quick visit to the hospital wing upon his return, combined with his pallor, had been enough to fortify a story of having skipped breakfast to study in the library where he'd fallen asleep in the back. While the story had been sufficient enough for Professor Twisp and Professor Binns (the latter of which hadn't even noticed his absence), Peter was quite certain that, despite not having commented on it, Professor McGonagall knew he was lying.

"No problems, Professor." Peter said, quietly. To prove it, he tapped the rat sharply with his wand. It barely had time to wake up before it turned into a paisley patterned balaclava. "I was just thinking up the proper pattern."

Lips twitching in a slight, acknowledging smile, the Professor nodded once before she turned and walked away, towards the other side of the room where one frantic student had accidentally left the legs on her balaclava, and it was scurrying frantically about underneath the desks while several students shrieked and lifted their legs off of the floor. This close to NEWTS, and to Christmas, perfectly capable students tended to lose their heads in even rudimentary situations.

Contrary to what most people thought, while Peter had never been an exemplary student, he had always been a passable one. When class ended several minutes later, Peter stuffed the balaclava into a pocket and hurried out before others had even risen from their seats. He hurried through the halls, heavy bag thumping against his legs as he ran, until he reached the portrait that hid the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The woman in the portrait, a plump lady wearing a rich pink dress, looked up from straightening the boughs of mistletoe she had hung on the inside of her frame. "Password?" she asked smoothly.

"Amicitia." Peter panted, and he climbed quickly through the hole revealed when the painting swung open for him.

Although he only had a few minutes left before he had to hurry to Herbology, Peter climbed the tower to the empty seventh year dormitory and dropped to his knees beside his bed. He removed the balaclava from inside his robes, placed it on the floor, and, with a prod from his wand, restored it to the rat it had been. It huddled on the cold stone floor, blinking for a moment, and although it's long whiskers might have been slightly paisley coloured, it looked none the worse for the wear for it's brief foray into the world of fashion. It looked up at him with it's small oil-drop eyes and a gaze that was somehow reproachful.

"I'm sorry." Peter whispered to it. "I had to do it. She would have failed me otherwise."

Wether the rat forgave him or not was impossible to say. Apparently having decided no other unorthodox changes to it's person were in the future, it set about grooming it's face meticulously. "You're happy like you are, aren't you?" Peter murmured. "You're _just _a rat. That's it. And that's all anyone expects from you. You didn't expect to be changed into something else than you are . . . why should you?"

There was a sudden thump of footsteps on the stairs, and Peter found himself jumping. He realised, face flushing, how foolish he sounded. He had known a quiet fifth year Gryffindor girl with a constantly dreamy expression when he was in his third year, who was constantly leaving her books about the common room. He had peeked inside one on one occasion, and had shut it just as quickly, blushing; the people inside the book had spoke like he just had. "Melodramatic", Sirius would have said, probably fluttering his eyelashes and rolling his eyes at the same time.

The rat fled as several boys spilled into the room, and Peter stood up hastily, noticing James and Sirius amidst them. James was grinning, as usual, although Peter noticed these days it had a slightly goofty, off-footed quality to it. Ever since Lily Evans had finally gone out with him. He made a beeline for Peter now, Sirius all but capering at his heels with glee. "Pettigrew!" James crowed, slapping an arm around his shoulders. "Where were you? Our man Sirius here just convinced Peeves it would be a fine idea to stuff the Slytherin's plates with _very carefully _selected Every Flavour Beans at lunch. Peeves always did have excellent taste."

One of the other seventh years, a tall, freckled young man by the name of Donovan Healy grinned as he pulled out fresh parchment from the trunk at the foot of his bed. "And how old are you again, Black?"

Sirius grinned rougishly, thrusting out his chest to buff his nails on it. "Old enough to know better and young enough to do it again, Healy."

James, however, was no longer listening. His smile faltered slightly and he gave Peter a shake. "You okay there, Peter? You're looking a little green around the gills."

Shaking his head furiously, Peter forced a grin on his face. He knew it was too much to ask that Peeves wouldn't tell the Slytherins who had put him up for it, and Lucius Malfoy wasn't someone he wanted to cross, even over something as childish as this. "Yeah . . . Yeah, I'm fine, James. I just haven't been sleeping well."

And that, at least, was not a lie.

----------

_Earlier_

"Divination." the woman said in her odd, musing, surprisingly baritone voice. She stood beside the ornate, claw-foot desk, one hand resting on it's surface, her other hand perched on her boney hips. Her head was tilted back, perhaps staring at the raging winter sky through the skylight, and she lowered it slowly to look around the class, giving a small jump as though surprised to find them there. "_Div_ination." A quick rat-tat-tat of her fingers rapping on the desk's surface.

Sitting near the front of the class, Lily exchanged a look with Remus and Ingrid. Or at least, she tried to. While Ingrid seemed torn between looking amused and attentive, Remus was sitting forward in his chair with his arms folded across his books, eyes fixed unwaveringly on their new teacher.

"My name," the woman said after a silence so long that Lily found herself jumping slightly at the voice, "is Professor Prichard. I will be your teacher and your guide through the . . . the mysteries of the future. Or . . . some such thing." She waved a hand absently, and Lily noticed the wand was still making it's circuit between those long fingers. She wondered if it was some sort of nervous tick.

Prichard crossed the room to stand in front of the nearest desk, which was occupied by a baffled looking Gryffindor who sat up straighter at her approach. "These are troubled times we live in." she said, laying her hand on the student's desk and locked gazes with him, expression somehow managing to be both distant and sympathetic. "_Very _troubled times. While . . . Divin_ation _cannot necessarily help you avoid your troubles . . . it _can _help you prepare for them, so you can cope with your losses better. Don't you think?"

There was a moment's silence as the class drunk in this bit of information, and the Gryffindor realised the question had been directed at him. "Er . . . yeah. Yeah, that's right, I guess."

Prichard smiled at him, a little absently, and her fingers drummed on the desk's surface again -- _rat-tat-tat -- _before she moved on. She strolled in a ragged circle about the room, taking exaggeratedly long strides. "I am going to teach you," she said, "a little trick to help you prepare for loss. It's very simple, and I believe all of you should learn it."

Another glance at Remus revealed he was still intently watching the Professor. A faint frown line had appeared between his brows, and Lily watched his throat work once as he swallowed. Ingrid's gaze had dropped to her desk as it usually did when she was trying to avoid being noticed, and Lily felt a pang of sympathy; Ingrid's older brother, who had gone on to take the name of Zonko over his given name of Timothy, had been a notorious troublemaker of such magnitude that, even several years after he had left Hogwarts, many of the teachers still remembered him and treated Ingrid as though she were always hiding something.

While Prichard didn't seem to be paying overmuch attention to any particular student as she returned to the middle of the floor in front of her desk and stood with her hand raised, palm up, in the air, Lily didn't exactly think the woman created the atmosphere of warmth and friendly discovery that Ariadne Fensworthy had cultivated. Several of the students looked uneasy, and the room was full of soft creaks as they shifted position restlessly.

Prichard placed her wand down upon her flat, outstretched hand, and the fingers of her free hand continued to twiddle in it's absence. "This is a very simple trick," she repeated in her deep voice, clearly her throat loudly enough that Lily jumped again at the brutal ragged sound. "You have, perhaps, heard of the Five Point spell, which can point you always towards the north and perhaps lead you to find sanctuary when you are lost. I do not believe this to be a spell, as much as a trick, as I said -- we are merely opening ourselves up to guidance, if you will." She closed her eyes, and Lily realised she felt a shiver of relief when that watery gaze was covered. "One needs only to concentrate and to open your . . . open your heart. And ask for enlightenment."

And, grasping the wand between her thumb and forefinger, she spun it on the surface of her hand.

The wand did not waver, did not tip off, and spun about rapidly, as smoothly as if she had sat it upon the floor. "As I said," Prichard said as the wand continued to spin and her baffled students watched, "it is important to prepare oneself for loss. Your wand can show you where next to prepare for it, and where next to mourn. And being prepared is always wise."

Before Lily could digest these words, could pull some meaning out of them, the wand suddenly ceased it's rotations as though it had been grasped by an unseen hand.

She realised, after a moment of holding her breath along with the rest of the class, that it's point was centered on a perfectly healthy looking potted plant on the edge of the Professor's desk.

Someone let out a laugh meant to be scornful in the back of the room, and Lily sighed, shaking her head wearily. It was odd to say, from a witch in a world for whom normal was relative, but she had never had much tolerance for fakery or nonsense. She had taken Divination thus far, to be true, more out of respect for Professor Fensworthy than any real stock of faith in the subject; her assignments were always completed on time, well-researched and completely factual, but she did not believe to have ever had any instance of clairvoyance herself. A lifetime of seeing fakers and frauds plying their "psychic abilities" from seedy shops on the streets of London had closed her mind to it. Professor Fensworthy had had faith in the topic, but hers had been a quiet affirmation, not something she felt the need

Professor Prichard swept across the room an picked the plant up, eyeing it critically. With a sigh, she finally dropped it with a loud crash in the rubbish bin beside her desk. "It is always best to be . . . merciful in such matters, my children. When you have been marked, it is best to accept your fate." She smiled a little as she said this last, and Lily noticed the wand was back to being spun about. The habit was beginning to annoy her.

Remus shifted slightly in his seat, and Lily saw he was finally looking a bit disbelieving. She still didn't know him that well, but she knew that while he didn't have it in him to talk down a teacher, he was at least becoming as dissatisfied with the class as she was. Ingrid, too, was looking both more relaxed and also slightly amused. Looking around, Lily saw the same looks on most of the other students' faces.

The only exception was Narcissa Black, who looked at least as bored as she always did, long-alabaster fingers tapping incessantly on her desk as she stared out the window.

If her class doubted her, Professor Prichard seemed to take no notice. She picked up the thick text they had been reading with Professor Fensworthy and flipped through the chapters, brows furrowing. After a moment, however, her expression turned almost blissful. "Will everyone," she said, "open their textbooks to page four-hundred-fifty-two?"

There was a dull rustle as the class followed suit, and Lily paged through her own book.

She saw, with no surprise whatsoever, that the Professor had turned them to the chapter on death omens.


	9. Secret Keeper Chapter 9

Secret Keeper - Chapter Nine

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_He kept watch from the window, only a little reassured by the promises of countless charms on the building to shield him from curious eyes. His grip on his broom was so tight it was certain to leave splinters lodged in the soft meat of his palm, but he scarcely noticed. If things went well, everything would be different from here on out. Here was where he proved himself._

_On top of the building across from him, he could see them milling about. Although he couldn't make out their faces from this distance, he knew they were knit in concern and worry and at the same time a wild sort of hope as much as his was. Though they gave their alleigiance to different factions, at heart they were still the same, kids hoping to carve out a niche for themselves in the world and finding it wasn't as easy as they'd thought._

_There was a soft murmur from behind him, a command in a quiet tone, and suddenly his palms were slick with sweat and anticipation where before they'd been dry with fear. There was no time to think, no time to balk; instantly, he slung a leg over his broom and kicked out with a yell, arm raised before his face to protect himself from the shower of glass that ensued. It was a bold attack, one lacking in complex magics, and that was what they relied on._

_The figures they sped towards froze briefly, wether in surprise or anger he didn't know, but the next they were airborne, yelling grim challenges of their own in voices tight with fear and anger. He barely recognised the face that met him first, or maybe he refused to recognise it beyond the tousle of dark hair and glint of moonlight on glasses as he flung out his wand arm, bellowing into the night, not caring who might hear, "AVADA --_

----------

Peter sat up with a jolt, constrained by sheets and flailing against them. For a moment, he was certain he saw the room lit by a blinding flash of green light, but certainly the other Gryffindors would not sleep so soundly -- Healy snoring loudly somewhere off to his left -- if that had been the case. The room was dark, and when Peter nervously scrubbed a hand through his hair, it came away slick with sweat. Another dream, then -- he'd been having them so frequently lately that although they still frightened him, he was never surprised when he woke with a start to find himself clutching his pillow against his chest.

Fumbling beside him on the bedside table he shared with another seventh year, Peter found his wand and whispered, "_Parvus lumen_," breathing an inaudible sigh of relief when the room was faintly lit by the dim glow coming from his wand. He climbed out of bed, grimacing as his feet touched the cold floor, and began to make his rounds.

Sirius Black, asleep on his back in a disconcertingly funeral state of repose, hands folded on his chest, face unusually grim in sleep as it never was when he was awake, although that was nothing strange. His breathing was deep and even.

Gardener Truitt, long limbs akimbo, breathing noisily through his open mouth, his small brown cat laying between his shoulder blades. The green eyes of the animal regarded Peter briefly with mild curiosity before it turned around and settled into better position to sleep.

Donovan Healy, one hand trailing along the floor, snoring softly with his sheets tangled about him, pillow on the floor next to his hand, a thin book -- _Quidditch Through The Ages _-- open on his chest.

And . . .

The curtains around the last bed were drawn, and Peter approached them slowly. He _knew _what he'd find; the same thing he'd found on the last five nights when he'd crept out of bed to reassure himself. Still, there was an unpleasant flutter of doubt as he took hold of the curtains and pulled them back.

James Potter, curled on his side.

James Potter, alive and well, of course.

Peter didn't realise he'd been holding his breath until he felt his lungs ache with relief with he let it out. _Of course he's alive, twit_, he chastised himself mentally. The last shreds of the nightmare had already left him, dispelled by the familliar shapes and faces in the room and rythmic sound of windblown snow outside. He'd been having the nightmares for a while now, brought on by the stress of exams as well as heading home, nevermind the looming threat grimly reported by the newspapers, he figured, and he hadn't bothered to mention them to any of the others.

After all, they were only dreams. And dreams, of course, didn't mean anything.

Nevertheless, Peter stood quietly at his friend's bedside, listening to the even breathing, until the light from his wand caused James to stir uncomfortably in his sleep, and he retreated to bed.

The remaining week of school before the holidays seemed to drag by, and the teachers suddenly found themselves presiding over rows of increasingly fidgiting students, last-minute Christmas wish lists passed with hopeful murmurs. Professor Prichard's classes, after the first depressing day, seemed to become more and more mundane; the Professor herself didn't seem to have any interest in the subject beyond a grim fascination with death omens, and often seemed to drift off when not adressing the class through her lessons, read straight from the books . . . which, it was rumoured, Headmaster Dumbledore preferred over needless worrying.

Judging by Remus' account of class, Peter agreed. He himself had quite enough to worry about without having a teacher trying to convince him everyone he loved was suddenly going to keel over dead into their Christmas soup. He had managed to dig a sizeable trench through the homework he had been assigned, setting determinedly to the task and forgoing after-class excursions with James and the others, and was pleased with the results. However choppy his nighttimes might be, at least the loads during the day had been lessened, even if he thought of little more these days than the proper wand motions to use when banishing the tusks from a boar in Charms (last class he had only succeeded in enlarging them to the point where the animal's alarmed squeals had been deafening as it struggled to lift it's head while Professor Flitwick fought his way through the amused crowd.).

Peter hurried through the library now, arms laden with heavy texts for some last minute studying, only to find himself met with a long winding line at the front desk populated by distraught students doing the same. Far ahead, he could hear the librarian calling shrilly and irritably, "Keep it organised! Keep it coming! And for Merlin's sake, keep it _quiet_!"

With the possibility of finding a bit of free time before his next class to review his History of Magic notes with Remus, Peter resigned himself to the line with a sigh. Although Madam Pince, the librarian, was a force to be reckoned with, many of the students were still murmuring nervously and fidgeting uncomfortably, bemoaning late assignments and difficult classes to one another. The strain seemed to be getting to everyone, and, craning his neck around, Peter actually saw a dishevelled looking Slytherin comforting a sobbing Hufflepuff who was waving a long list of assignments in despair.

"That's always the way, isn't it? A little pressure, and they just fall apart."

Peter jumped at the low feminine voice spoken behind him and turned to find Narcissa Black had taken place in the line. His tongue turned to putty in his mouth, and before his brain could come up with a sufficiently witty reply, he heard himself say, "Who? Hufflepuff?"

"No. Everybody." Affecting a look of great boredom, Narcissa balanced the single slim volume she was waiting to check out -- _Exotic Enchantments _by Mercutio Valblander -- on her hip and peered down at him. She was a tall young woman, strikingly pretty and slender, gleaming auburn hair falling in perfectly styled ringletts about her slender neck. Even her robes seemed of a better cut than the other students', although Peter might have thought that was an illusion created by her bearing; Narcissa always tended to carry herself as though she were striding before a discerning court. "It's silly. If they'd been paying attention all year instead of playing the fools, they wouldn't be laden down with work as they are now."

"You aren't?" Peter asked, still feeling wrong-footed. He'd always fancied Narcissa, at least for her face if not for the perpetually bored mind behind it, and he still found it difficult to believe she was speaking to him. Narcissa seemed to keep to a small knot of coiffed girls from the Houses, although mostly recently she seemed to be spending more and more time with Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes Peter could still hardly believe she was related to Sirius at all.

"No. I finished all my assignments _ages _ago. Haven't you?"

"Er . . . well . . . mostly." Peter lied, shifting his books so she couldn't read the titles.

Narcissa made a noncommittal sound, pale gaze sweeping over the students. Her expression had always been hard to read; Peter was never certain if she really was that bored, or just preferred to look that way. After a moment, she looked back at him. "Heading home for the holidays?" she asked, the question seeming to take a great deal of effort. Before he could respond, she'd shaken her head. "I imagine most everyone is, even those with work to do. And they'll forget all about it while they're stuffing their faces. Listen, have you seen Sirius lately?"

The change of topic came so fast, it was as though she had taken a hatpin and punctured the slowly swelling balloon of hope in his chest. Had he really thought she had been interested in carrying on a conversation with him? Sighing, Peter shook his head. "You might try James or Remus. I haven't had time, really. Studies."

Surprisingly, Narcissa smiled. Even more surprisingly was the way it seemed to sit on her face, as though it never left. "That's good. That's good to hear. Dilligence is always to be rewarded in our future endeavours."

"You . . . you, uh, take Divination, don't you?" Peter asked, shuffling ahead in line, eager to keep the conversation going. "I don't think Sirius likes that new teacher."

The smile had gone already, but Narcissa's tone was light and absent. "Professor Prichard? I think she's a fine woman. She fills the position quite nicely, none of that coddling Professor Fensworthy used to do." She paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Tragic, what happened to her. Listen, Peter . . . when you see Sirius later, would you tell him I need to speak to him? I have a friend I want him to meet."

Peter was so pleased to know she knew his name -- _Of course she knows your name, she's Sirius' cousin_, his brain said, unheeded -- he would have agreed to walk on his hands for the rest of the day if she had asked. "Sure. Sure, of course I'll tell him."

"Thank you. You know, I really don't think I need this book after all." Narcissa placed the book on a nearby counter, but her gaze remained fixed thoughtfully on Peter's face. "You're a good student, aren't you, Peter? Lots of potential, I imagine. Maybe we'll all have to get together sometime. We might have something in common." With an absent nod of her head, she turned and swept out of the library, head high, hips swaying ever so slightly.

Peter found himself staring blankly after her. There had been an odd sort of emphasis on her words, and he wondered if he wasn't maybe being set up; Lucius Malfoy was notoriously vindictive and jealous, and although Sirius often referred to Narcissa as "at least tolerable", there was a possibility she was only toying with him.

Still, the way she had _smiled _at him . . .

"Keep it moving please!" Madame Pince snapped, slamming her palm on the top of the desk he hadn't even realised he'd finally come to stand in front of.

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Author's Note: I am the least happy with this out of all of the chapters thus far. It was written at the end of holiday funk, and the tone is more like one I would use to write _Fade to Black _than potterfiction, although I don't feel it's _badly _written (I hope). Before anyone has anything to say about Narcissa's hair colour, I don't remember if it was ever mentioned anyway, and I imagine Draco could have gotten his from his father.


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